The Half Princess & the Bastard
by Sunshine Hamilton
Summary: Despite her choice of leading a normal life, Aileen is still Ned Stark's bastard. How long can she hide this secret, now that she is a maid at the Dreadfort and the Boltons are looking for a way to get a hold on the North? Like if Ramsay wasn't already giving her too much attention, far more than she is asking for! And still, she is too determined to play the damsel in distress.
1. The Dreadfort

**The Half Princess and the Bastard**

298 AL.

'Aileen!'

As I see my beloved friend Alfie walk fast towards me, I can't help wiping out my discomfort with a spontaneous smile. I was extremely reluctant to follow his advice and set for the Dreadfort to serve the Boltons and yet, now that I see him, I think things could even work out well.

This might also be due to the fact that I have never played the part of the damsel in distress: I always face life without crying over myself, even when things don't go as I wish. And obviously, becoming a maid at the Dreadfort is so _not_ what I wished.

Well, how could anyone, anyone who hasn't completely lost his marbles, possibly wish for that?

It's such a cold, depressing place: if the fact that it was founded near the so called _Weeping_ River wasn't depressing enough, bear in mind that they have a flayed man on their coat of arms!

Long story short, if I am here it's basically because I don't think I have another option to save my family from starving, so this will be good enough of a motivation to face their threatening symbol.

'Alfie,' I breath out in a joyful whisper, hugging him. He looks more mature than last time I have seen him: shorter blond hair, more muscles.

'I'm glad you are here.'

'I'd be more glad if the welcoming sign was slightly friendlier,' I spit out, eyeing the red coat of arms.

'I know, and I won't hide that here I have seen a few…real ones,' he admits, putting a finger on my mouth before I can express my shock, 'But!', he adds promptly, 'if you behave, you'll be fine. Look at me.'

'But you are a good chef.' And he really is: he has been serving the Boltons for over a year, I seem to remember. 'Myself… I don't even know how a maid is supposed to act.'

He smiles. 'Not like you usually do, to be honest.'

'Very encouraging.'

We start walking on the narrow bridge towards the magnificent entrance, plunged in thin cold mist.

'Well, you'll have to look less…proud, I guess. And I know it's unlike you, but you will _have_ to do what they say, accept orders, look humble, walk with elegance and not run everywhere like a child.'

'This doesn't sound like me at all,' I sigh.

Alfie knows me too well: we grew up screaming around, jumping in the river, running through the woods, waking up in the middle of the night to stare at the moon in the dark, improvising dialogues inspired by the stories we heard in the village. I have never been _ladylike,_ let's say. Luckily, I have never needed to be, at least until this very moment: Alfie and I were free to be ourselves. I have never envied ladies and princesses, stuck in the conventions and stupid rules of their class.

'I know,' he smiles, 'This doesn't sound like you, but that's what you need to do to survive here without going crazy. Take it… take it as a show! You used to like acting, didn't you?'

I laugh. Yeah, he really knows me well. 'Alright, what part am I acting, exactly?'

'You are acting the part', he begins theatrically, 'of a young maid, polite, elegant, respectful of her masters, and invisible.'

'Invisible?'

'Yes. People who stay in their place, here, are usually going to be fine. Roose and family are not the best people, as you know. So don't cause troubles, don't try and be noticed. Just stay in the background: do what they ask, and disappear. Beware of his son, especially.'

'You mean his bastard?'

'Don't!' he opens his dark eyes wide, raising a hand. 'Rule number one: don't-call-Ramsay-a bastard.'

I shrug my shoulders. 'That's what he is. That's what _I_ am. I don't make a scene if someone calls me for what I am.'

'Well, he doesn't make a scene either. He does much worse.'

'Are you trying to scare me?' raising my eyes to the ceiling. 'Like when we used to meet up by night and you jumped out of the least predictable corners just to laugh at me shaking?'

'No,' he nods, holding back a smile but going back to his serious face. 'I am just trying to explain to you how to survive here. So, rule number one?'

I make a grimace, mocking his tone in a childish way. 'Never call Ramsay a bastard. But wasn't it _being invisible?'_

'They are equally important.' He swipes the grey, opaque cloth of my humble dress with his thumb. 'This is a good start.' Then he raises my chin, turning my face to look at the reflection in the mirror: my green eyes are staring back at me and a sunray from the window adds red shadings to my fair brown hair and underlines the freckles on my nose that everyone describes as _delicious,_ despite me hating them. 'This is not,' he adds, frowning a bit.

'What's wrong with my face?' I laugh, hands on my hips, pretending to be offended. 'I am not pretty enough to work here?'

'On the contrary. But too many pretty girls here have been playing with fire and…'

'They got burnt!' pressing my hands on the cheeks and faking fear.

Alfie ruffled my hair. 'Worse,' again, 'but-' he stops talking as soon as we hear footsteps approaching. 'I'll explain to you soon,' he promises in a whisper, stepping back from me.

I catch a glimpse of –I guess- Roose Bolton, about to leave the castle, but when he sees us out of the corner of his little eyes he stops.

'Is it her?' to Alfie.

'Yes, my Lord.'

Roose is slightly smaller than I imagined, with short greyish hair and a worn out, fierce face. He stands in front of us like a statue.

'What's your name?'

I quickly force myself to use Alfie's attitude. 'Aileen, my Lord,' I answer humbly with a quick bow.

He nods. 'Helàna will show you to your room.'

'Thank you, my Lord, you are very kind,' I add as he leaves. Then, smiling at Alfie, 'How did it go?'

'You are still a good actress,' he says, so I mockingly bow, but he grabs me by an elbow, 'Don't push it,' he adds.

Then I follow Helàna, the eldest maid: she looks like a sweet grandmother, with her long white hair held in a loose bun and a tender but too wise smile. She asks me about my story and, even if she seems trustworthy, I lie, of course.

Some people know the story of this little girl raised in a village in the North. Some people have seen a little girl at Winterfell, Ned Stark's bastard. Very few know that we are the same person.

First of all, my surname doesn't give it away: I am not a Snow, unlike my half-brother Jon, and I haven't been raised as Ned's daughter, but that's fine. It was actually our choice.

It had already happened with Jon about a year before, and now what, another bastard? That would have been too much of a scandal for the Seven Kingdoms. Furthermore, my mother fell in love with Jeremy, shortly before I was born, and they decided to raise me as actual parents.

They told me the truth only when I was seven: I was half noble.

It was a big shock at first, but I didn't allow a mistake from the past to ruin my happy life.

Mum explained that Eddard was reluctant to be involved in our situation, at first: yet when he saw me –I can't remember, since I was barely one year old- he smiled and told her I had the eyes of a princess –he was wrong, I am so not a princess, even though I was known as "the half princess of the North". He held me for a few minutes, she said. And after that, he decided to help her and Jeremy with my bringing up. He used to send some coins every once in a while and he welcomed me at Winterfell whenever I wanted. We were afraid of scandals, though: sure, a lot of people in the North knew, but they kept it inside their walls. We didn't want the whole Westeros to find out: we preferred our quiet life, me, mum and Jeremy –the one I actually call Dad-, all blessed with freedom and no political involvement.

Anyway, since I had no brothers nor sisters, I used to go to Winterfell once every few months to play with my half-brothers. Less with my half-sisters, to tell the truth: I really liked Arya, because she was free like me, whereas I didn't get along with Sansa. I couldn't stand her fake manners and rituals, her dreaming of becoming a perfect princess and blah blah blah. Brann and Rickon weren't even born at first. Robb, yes, he has always been nice with me: he could always find a way to make me laugh even more than I did by myself. But he spent most of his time with his friend Theon, Theon Greyjoy, also known as my very first crush –I swear on all the old gods and the new ones, people could see me blush from the other side of a room each time I saw him-. Jon… Jon is my favourite. It's probably because we are both bastards, but we do feel like actual brother and sister. He is the one who taught me and Arya how to use the sword –I will never forget how sorry he was when he cut my left cheek by mistake, leaving me this small scar next to the eye… He was nearly in tears, and didn't stop saying he was sorry until I threatened to never speak to him again if he had said it once more. Catelyn hates me, of course. Almost as much as she hates Jon. I really like her, though: she is still a beautiful woman and she seems so strong. I don't blame her for hating me, even though it's one of the reasons why my visits at Winterfell started to decrease. That, and the preference for a completely normal life, without rules, without too many problems.

Last year, I spent most of my time with Alfie. When he left to serve the Boltons, I felt a bit lonely at first, but I kept myself occupied helping mum and dad with their cow and pigs.

And then, Sansa's cruel love –King Joffrey- had my natural father beheaded.

I couldn't believe it, at first. He wasn't really a father, he felt more like an uncle to me, but I did love him… and I believed he was somehow immortal: he looked so strong and powerful, and yet now he is gone. Sliced by a sword.

Of course, no more money came into our pockets and, when I realised that my parents where barely touching food to leave it to me, I decided I had to do something about it.

Alfie had mentioned in a letter that the Boltons might have needed another maid, since one had disappeared.

 _So here I am,_ I think, bouncing on my new, hard bed and closing my eyes.

I don't trust the Boltons: they have flayed many Starks in the past. Now they look like they are on their side, though. I don't know. Maybe they are. Anyway, I am not a Stark, I am not a Snow: I am just myself and I don't want anyone to suspect otherwise, especially now that we are in war.

I will just do my best to follow Alfie's stupid rules: behave, be invisible –whatever that actually means- and beware of the bastard.

What was the other one?

Oh yeah. Never call the bastard _a bastard_.

Hello everyone!  
I am new on the website and this is my very first GoT fiction.  
English is not my original language so I hope I haven't made any big mistake… sorry if I did (feel free to point it out).  
It would be really good for me if you gave me some feedback, good or bad, to improve, to tell me you like the story or even to tell me what the hell is this?! Never know haha

Ramsay will appear veeery soon.

Thanks for reading xx  
Sunshine


	2. Wine for the bastard

'So how is it going?' asks Alfie, jumping back.

My sword stabs at the air right beside him. 'Better than I thought.'

He tries to get closer, but I obviously manage to keep my guard up.

'Housework keep me occupied,' I explain, putting my hair back behind the ear, 'And I also have to be available whenever Roose calls, since Helàna is in charge of looking after every whim of the bastard.'

' _Ramsay,'_ he corrects me, hitting my sword.

I roll my eyes. 'He is not even here, for all the gods! Why are you so scared of him?'

'I'm not scared of him,' he shrugs his shoulders, attacking with slightly more strength.

'Yes, you are,' I tease him, parrying every single blow, 'Poor little you! Alfie is afraid of the bastard.'

'Aileen, stop it!' he bites his lip, annoyed. 'Have you even seen him?'

'Not yet,' I jump behind him, touching his back with the sword. 'Touché', I casually add, 'But I'll see him tonight since I'll be serving dinner.'

Alfie bursts in laughter. 'They are letting _you_ serve the dinner I'll cook? You? The eternal dropper?'

'Number one: yes, they are,' I step forward, threatening him with my sword, 'Number two: I am not a dropper,' I corner him by the wall, 'and number three,' I strike a powerful thrust that gets his weapon to fly on the ground, 'I am better than you even with the sword.'

He smiles. 'Well, it's not fair: you have been taught by a Stark.'

'By Jon, so technically I have been taught by a Snow,' I shrug my shoulders, 'But yes, he has the Starks blood.'

'And so do you,' he adds in a smirk.

'Yes, but I'd keep that in my veins,' I firmly explain for the hundredth time, 'rather than showing off for the noble half of my blood and see it spread somewhere in return.'

…..

'Don't talk to them, my darling,' explains Helàna once more, combing my hair and giving a quick caress on my left cheek. 'Just stay in the background, bring wine only when they ask you or make a gesture at you. You have to be prompt, but you have to do so without staring at them too much.'

I let out a sigh. 'Sure, Helana. I'll just look at your moves first'.

 _Don't stare. Be invisible._ For all the gods, where the hell am I?

Why do they all worry so much about every-single-thing?

Anyway, we enter the massive, poorly lit dining room, where we had previously prepared only two settings of cutlery on the ridiculously long table, that could have hoisted at least a dozen more people.

Roose is already sitting there, with his black and greyish noble clothes and his serious gaze.

When I pour some wine into his glass, though, he smiles at me.

A brief smile, but smile he does.

I was very worried about Roose Bolton, before entering the Dreadfort for the first time and, to tell the truth, I don't trust him at all, but at least I think he has a soft spot for me somehow, and this is good.

I am still following Alfie's advice, taking the whole thing as a show, and in my show, if I want to survive without too much trouble, it's better to have the protection of the Lord of the castle.

After a few minutes, the bastard comes.

Yes, I know Helana told me not to stare, but I am far too curious: after all, I have heard so many stories about him, and some seem too horrible to be true –sometimes bored peasants tend to make things sound bigger than they are-. And Alfie's warnings about him are undermining my mental health, so the least I can do is study the guy.

I was expecting a monster, covered in blood of something –thank you Alfie, you are making me paranoid-, but he actually looks like a normal person: he is pretty much my age, maybe two or three years older; taller than me obviously, but not massively; his hair looks dark, but when he sits at the candlelit table I see lighter shades. His eyes… yes, maybe his eyes are the only actual scary part of him: they are stunning, light blue, but they look like they are made of ice.

'You are late,' moans Roose.

'Sorry, father. I was busy hunting. Didn't realise it was so late,' and he makes a quick gesture at the glass, at which I promptly get closer to fill it up, as Helana instructed me. The bastard doesn't see me at first: unlike his father, he doesn't raise his eyes, nor smile. He takes a sip of the scarlet wine and then completely forgets about it for the rest of the first course.

Helana and I clear the empty plates and that's probably when he notices me, because when I come back from the kitchen with another dish his cold eyes are already on me.

He too looks… curious, I'd say.

Maybe he didn't even know there was a new maid.

My first instinct is to proudly stare back, but then I remember Helana's rules and, reluctantly, lower my eyes.

Staring at the table, I see him grabbing the forgotten glass: he drinks it all at once and with a casual gesture invites me to top it up again.

I do as he wishes, and silently step back beside Helana.

I am not even listening to his conversation with Roose, since I am sure it's just boring noble stuff.

A page boy knocks at the door and, apologizing, interrupts dinner briefly, getting Roose to read a message.

Ramsay takes the opportunity to turn left and gaze at me: without taking that mocking smirk off his face, he drinks up the wine again and repeats the same gesture.

My fingers clutch the pitcher until the knuckles get white. What a spoiled bloke.

'Don't look angry,' hisses Helana trying to sound calm. For some reason, it looks like she is not.

So I take a deep breath and quickly pour some more wine, trying not to get too close.

They go back to their dinner, a juicy dish of chicken and vegetables.

Alfie gave me a taste before: he says we have to enjoy it while we still can, since winter is coming and food won't be as tasty as it now, if we get any food at all.

He is always so dramatic.

A few minutes later, Roose finishes his first glass of wine and invites me to fill it up. As I approach them to do my job, Ramsay calmly cuts another piece of chicken. As soon as I leave the table, he drinks up the wine all at once, again, and lifts up the glass expecting me to refill it.

Couldn't he have done it literally ten seconds before, without me having to walk away and than back?!

Stupid spoiled bastard.

I remember the 'show', so I wear my fakest smile and go back to the table to pour some more wine.

…

'The only bad thing about my bedroom,' I sigh, embracing the cold nightly breeze, 'is that I can't really see the moon from its tiny window.'

Alfie and I are laying on the hay by the stalls, like we used to do when we still lived by Winterfell, looking at the moon.

Whatever problem I have, I always feel at least slightly better when I stare at the moon.

I think it began when I was about ten. Jon and I got lost in the woods at night. I thought it was funny at first, but after two hours of hopeless wandering I had started to panic.

' _Jon, I… I am scared.'_

' _Shhh, it's ok,'_ he had whispered, hugging me and wrapping me in his black cape. _'Look up there, look at the moon',_ he added. _'You can't be scared under such a beautiful moon.'_

So, after that night, I have always felt the need to take some time to keep quiet under the moon, almost daily. It makes me feel safe, relaxed. And it's almost like receiving a hug from Jon, wherever he is.

'How was dinner?'

I had almost forgotten about Alfie right next to me, his blond hair barely visible in the moonlight.

'Boring,' I admit, turning my head to look at him. 'But the chicken was good, chef.'

He smiles. 'Did you meet Ramsay?'

'Yeah. He is not as scary as you say, but he looks so… arrogant,' I spit out in disgust.

'Just promise me you won't…' he seems to think of an appropriate word, 'mess around with him.'

I furrow my eyebrows. 'Why would I mess around with him?'

'Because he messes around with girls a lot and… sometimes they don't come back.'

'You mean like… they leave, or they die?'

'People say he hunts them,' he pulls a very serious look, 'in the woods. Like animals.'

I burst out in laughter. 'Oh come on, Alfie! It's nonsense! You should stop believing whatever people tell you.'

'And you should start believing what I try to warn you about,' he hisses.

'Have you ever seen him hunting girls?' raising an eyebrow.

'Well, no… but!'

'Keep believing in monsters and dragons, then.'

'Dragons do exist, you clever girl.'

'No, they _did,'_ I specify, going back to staring at the pale moon, keeping quiet. 'But I do believe in a monster who is about to punch you if you don't shut up.'

He smiles. 'You never change, Aileen.'

And while I relax, admiring the sky and stars, I suddenly remember Ramsay mentioning some hunting at dinner, but… nah.

Come on, it can't be what Alfie says.

….

Hello everyone, I am back!

So Aileen has finally met the bastard (lucky her! No, ok, I know Ramsay is not a good character, but I can't help loving him haha)

What do you think of him so far?

I want to thank Wombat8, wengmz, The shadow next to you, Snapsnap24131, ItzNikkiBlack, Hermione Voldemort and Unstoppably-demonic, for following my story.

If someone wanted to leave a quick review, it'd be awesome and really helpful for me for the next chapter.

Love x

Sunshine Hamilton


	3. Yes, my Lord

The air is getting colder day after day: the wind blows from the north and the sky is often plunged in a greyish and misty atmosphere. Today, at least, I wake up to a delightful sunshine. I enjoy this rare privilege, sitting by the window as I braid my long hair that looks slightly ginger under these sunrays, and I rush outside in the courtyard.

As I approach the stalls, I see a pretty blonde girl saddling a horse, while Alfie is clearly just pretending to keep himself occupied only to secretly look at her.

'Do you like her?' I burst out, jumping next to him, in a really childish tone.

He gasps. 'Mind your own business.'

He tries and walk away, but I obviously follow him, amused. 'Oh, just because, you know, you had stars in your eyes as you looked at her.'

'Did I? At least I don't blush whenever someone names Theon Greyjoy.'

'Hey, it's different! I was like… ten.'

Alfie bursts in laughter. 'No, you weren't. You kept doing it until you were… nah, I'm sure you still do it.'

'No, I don't!' I spit out, fists on my hips. 'Look, I'm not blushing.'

He checks my cheeks under the sunlight. 'Mmh, ok, you are right,' he admits, 'but trust me: you went on like that until last time I saw you up North.'

'No, I didn't,' stomping my feet. 'That was just when I was a child.'

'Oh no, it SO wasn't. You… You didn't sleep for a whole night after he kissed you,' he covers his mouth laughing even lauder.

'That's not true!'

'It is! For all the gods, I had forgotten about that time.'

'Alfie!' My voice starts turning terribly high-pitched.

He steels my green shawls and wraps it around his head, mimicking me. _'Oh my, Alfie,'_ he begins, batting his eyelashes, ' _you won't believe what happened today! Oh Alfie, I could die! Kill me, kill me now!'_

'I-don't-talk-like-that!'

'You did! _Kill me,_ you kept saying! _Kill me now Alfie, for I don't think my heart can bear so much thrill.'_

'Very funny,' crossing my arms. 'I hate you.'

He gives me back my shawl. 'Well, that was just to show you why you shouldn't make fun of my when I look at girls.'

My killer instinct towards Alfie gets brutally interrupted by approaching footsteps. I turn around and spo the bastard fiercely marching through the courtyard towards the stalls.

'Oh look, the bastard is here,' I whisper to Alfie.

He promptly stomps on my foot.

'Ouch, I didn't even say it aloud!'

'Shut up.'

Ramsay is wearing a wide dark clothes, same colour as his hair, heavy boots and a thick cape. The blonde girl that Alfie was looking at, smiles at him. Then he glances at us.

'You.'

Alfie and I both look at each other, unsure whether the bastard is talking to me or him.

'The little one,' he clarifies.

'He just saved you from me killing you,' I quickly smirk at Alfie, before heading towards Ramsay.

'I don't need killing, I haven't been kissed by Theon Greyjoy. I'm sure my heart can cope without all that thrill,' he laughs back.

I finally reach Ramsay on the other side of the courtyard and quickly bow, even if I shouldn't, since he is just a bastard, but Helàna told me at least five times –I swear!- that I must.

He quickly glances at Alfie, far behind me, and then his icy eyes meet mine. I think he can be considered handsome, in a way, but the look on his face is always so severe and his jaw tightly clenched that it's hard to stare at him.

'Next time I call you, you need to answer back much faster.'

I bite my tongue, trying so hard to be polite. 'I beg your pardon.'

'I beg your pardon, _my lord,'_ he hisses.

Deep breath. Fine, I can handle this. 'I beg your pardon, my Lord.'

'Better,' he smiles, pleased. 'Do you know how to saddle a horse?'

'Yes, my lord.' _My Lord._ Can I throw up yet?

'Good. Then prepare the black one.'

I enter the stalls, heading towards the horse he mentioned, and I hear Ramsay's footsteps not far behind me. I pick up a fistful of hay and feed it to the fierce animal, caressing him quickly before fetching the saddle. Ramsay is silently studying me, his breath is the only noise breaking the silent now that the voices from the courtyard are barely muffled.

'What's your name?'

'Aileen.'

'Aileen, _my Lord.'_

'No,' I spit out, 'Just Aileen.'

I bite my tongue. I couldn't help it. If Alfie was here, he would stomp my foot much harder. Before I can even realise, Ramsay has clutched my chin in his strong grip, forcing me to look into his eyes.

'You,' he hisses. 'I know you are new and young and you probably don't know much about manners,' he corners me to the wooden wall, without letting go of the grip on my chin, 'But you'd better learn some really quickly. The way you behave with my father, so you have to do for me, understand?' He gets even closer, until I can almost feel his breath on my lips. 'Unless you want me to teach you how to behave, and believe me: you really don't want this to happen. Do you understand?'

Is that a threat? I breath out loud, trying to calm myself, remembering Alfie and Helana's stupid advice. 'Yes, my Lord,' trying to sound humble, but staring back proudly right into his blue eyes.

He lets go of me, slightly pushing my face on the side. 'Now saddle the horse.'

'Yes,' I mutter, feeling my stomach ache, 'My Lord.'

….

Hello, people of Westeros!

I wanted to thank Bluerubydragon, Aleesha513, Dark Angel 792, Jafcbutterfly, Jess54325, Luronda and Mira91 for beginning to follow my story or adding it to their fave.  
A special thank to **Lumay16** : I am really busy recently, but finding her review compelled me to find some time to write this new chapter. (Since you were expecting the first proper interaction between Aileen and Ramsay, I hope you are happy!)

Hope to hear something from you!

Bye xxx

Sunshine


	4. Behave

Sometimes I wonder what it feels like, to live as a noble and actually know what is going on in Westeros. They plot, they make alliances, they betray, they move the strings of hundreds of poor little puppets, and they receive letters and messages to be kept up to date with what is changing on this huge chessboard.

If you are a servant or a farmer, you don't really get to know what is going on, unless it is something really out of the ordinary, like my natural dad's beheading.

It's like living in a bubble, because your reality ends even before the horizon. In my case, it ends with the bridge on the river by the Dreadfort –I obviously do cross the river sometimes, but there's nothing to do there, believe me.

To be honest, I don't usually mind this bubble: I prefer living my life without having to worry about what the Lannisters or the Baratheons do. I admit, though, that lately I have been thinking a lot about the Starks. I wouldn't swap my quiet bubble for all that plotting, and yet I would really like to know how my step-brothers and sisters are. Jon, especially. Has he actually joined the Night's Watch?

I hear people mentioning war sometimes, but it's hard to tell from here.

My only war, at the moment, is with my self control, to keep calm and respectful in front of Ramsay. With Roose it's much easier: he is rude sometimes, but he doesn't really pay attention to his manners. His bastard, on the contrary, masters his skill of being annoying. Not always, at least.

This morning he smiled when we bumped into each other at the door and he even stepped back to let me go first, which I didn't expect.

Alfie says he plays mind games and stuff, so I need to be careful _especially_ when he seems nice. Helana grew an affection for the bastard –don't ask me how that's even possible, because I have no clue-, but at the same time she confirms he can be really dangerous.

'Be always good to him, my darling,' she told me just this morning, brushing my hair and braiding it into two plats held together in a low bun. 'Please.'

To me, he is just a spoiled child.

I see him shortly afterwards, on the stairs.

'Aileen.'

'My Lord.'

He has probably shaven this morning, since yesterday he still had a bit of beard. His hair is slightly untied.

He moves his finger to invite me to follow him. I reluctantly enter his bedroom: it's quite high up, in a tower, and from the window you can see the courtyard. Yet, it's pretty dark.

'I spilled some wine in the corner, there, I need you to clean it.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Hopefully it's just me being paranoid, but when I kneel down to scrap the red spot I feel his eyes on me. I still pretend that I'm at ease, silently.

'What do you do in the courtyard by night?' he asks, getting closer.

I raise my head to look at him. 'Have you been spying on me, my Lord?'

He smiles. 'If so, would you appreciate or would you be scared?'

I think about it. Not because I'm unsure about the answer, but because I don't know if I should tell the truth. But I do. 'I would be annoyed.'

'And I wouldn't care,' he smiles, the usual icy look in his eyes. 'But I have only seen you because you pass just underneath my window. And you haven't answered my question.'

I sigh. 'I just like looking at the moon.'

'Why?'

I won't obviously tell him that it's because of Jon. I just shrug my shoulders. 'It makes me feel at home, somehow.'

'But why do you go out?'

'Because I can't really see it from my bedroom.'

'You can come and watch it here,' he smirks, pointing at his window. 'I wouldn't mind.'

 _Not even if you doubled my pay,_ I think, clutching the cloth even stronger. Silently, I clean up the rest of the spot and I step up. 'My job is done, my Lord,' I quickly say, to get out of this conversation. I bow and rush to the door.

Before I can reach it, though, I feel everything sliding away and a slight pain hits me in the back: I realise Ramsay's slammed me to the wall, his body blocking mine.

His cold eyes are staring at me. He does look scary, so close, but still I stare back with pride.

'What did I tell you few days ago, Aileen?'

'To behave,' I breath out, biting my tongue. 'My Lord,' I add, disgusted.

'And does abandoning a conversation sound like _behaving_ , to you?'

I shake my head no.

He opens his mouth to say something, but we are interrupted by the familiar sound of the bell.

'Your father is calling me.'

'He can wait.'

'No! That's my job.'

'Helana can do it.'

' _She_ is in charge of looking after _you, I_ need to be there quickly when your father calls.'

He gets even closer, his lips slightly open in a crooked smile. 'Well,' he breaths out, 'we'll need to change that, won't we?'

My right hand moves slowly towards the door, or at least I thought I was moving it slowly: he somehow notices it, even if his eyes are still in mine. Without looking away, he firmly clutches my wrist and pins it up on the wall above my head.

The bell rings again.

I look away and bite my lip to ignore the pain he is causing me, but the smirk on his face makes me realise that he is well aware of it. The pressure gets even stronger.

'Why can't you just behave like all the others do, mmh?' he pulls out a fake pout, moving his head to catch my eyes again. I bite my lip to ignore the pain on the wrist, looking away again. 'Answer, Aileen. I'm talking to you!'

'Aileen.'

Ramsay and I turn our face on the right at the same time. Roose is here.

I look at him with hope.

'I had to call her twice,' he spits out, annoyed, but not to me: to his bastard. 'Let her go.'

He reluctantly lets go of my wrist, stepping back.

'Come downstairs, Aileen,' says Roose.

'Yes, my Lord,' I bow, relieved.

I leave Ramsay behind me, following his father, who has quickly left the room.

'He won't be always here to protect you,' I hear the bastard whisper in my ear.

'I work for him,' I spit out, looking at him with disgust, 'Of course he will be here.'

'We'll see, darling. We'll see.'

…

Hello, people of Westeros!

A massive THANK YOU to Aleesha513, Lumay16 (your English is great, by the way, stop worrying about it :) !) and the unknown guest who left a review. That really means a lot!

Also, thanks Kat1894, salvatoresister887, MarishkaTheUnderdog, katyha and mpowers045 for following me into the crazy chambers of the Dreadfort!

Also, is Ramsay right? Will Roose stick around for long? Well, we actually know the answer, don't we…

Careful, Aileen!

Xxx

Sunshine Hamilton


	5. Roose, don't go!

'Darling, our Master wants to talk to all of us, now.'

'Yes, Helàna, I'm coming.'

I rush down the stairs of the gloomy Dreadfort, wondering what the hell could be happening. Did we do something wrong? Does he want to get rid of one of us? I really have no idea. I'm the last to arrive downstairs: all the servants are already gathered in front of Roose and the bastard, who both glance at me when I finally join them. I look down, slightly intimidated. They all look so serious.

Roose is in his armour, a fierce look on his severe face. The bastard stands next to him, looking really full of himself –more than usually, if that is even possible.

'As you know,' begins Roose, 'there's a war out there, and it's time for me to take action. Winter is coming, and when it comes it will find a divided, unprepared kingdom: more than a fool has declared himself the legitimate king and it's time for me to do what needs to be done. I am leaving tonight,' and as he says so I nearly drop my jaw. I look around, eyes wide shut, and I notice that the bastard is already staring at me, ready to check my reaction. After all, he had said that it might have happened, but I didn't believe him. _He won't be always here to protect you,_ he had threatened. I stare back with hate.

'And Ramsay will be in charge,' he keeps going. 'I want you to respect him as you respect me, behave,' and he looks at me as he says so, 'and serve the Dreadfort as usual. My bastard and I will exchange correspondence so I will find out very soon if something goes wrong, and there will be consequences. Thank you,' and he steps back, abandoning the room, leaving us in front of Ramsay who simply dismisses us with his hand.

I go to Alfie, pouting and letting out a heavy sigh.

'I know,' he mumbles, taking my hand and dragging me to the kitchen. 'Hard times are ahead.'

'I can't believe he is going,' I stomp my foot. 'I can't believe he's letting _him_ in charge!'

'We can't do anything about it, but _you,'_ raising a finger right on my face, 'you'd better behave as Roose says.' He offers me a bit of leftovers from yesterday's dinner.

'So now when the bell rings I have to go to the bastard?!'

'Yes, Aileen, yes,' he rolls his eyes, 'and for the hundredth time, stop calling him _a bastard_ , especially now that he is in charge.'

'I don't want Roose to go,' I moan, chewing the bread and potato pudding.

'You have always thought Roose is a good man and would help you out if needed, but believe me-'

'Well, he did! He got me out of an awkward situation.'

'That doesn't make him a good man.'

'And he is with the Starks. And I don't care if he's a good man in general, as long as he's good to me.'

'I don't know, maybe he is kind with you cause you remind him of the girl he raped when he was younger?'

'Pfff, you believe everything people say.'

'And you don' believe when _true_ people try to warn you about something! Where did you think the bastard came from?' A serious look in his eyes. He shrugs his shoulders, 'Also, this is war now. You are still a child, sometimes.'

'A child who can beat you with a sword,' I correct him, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes,' he smiles, 'but still a child.'

…

I stroke the dark horse's head, dully. I don't want Roose to go, and yet I have to saddle his horse.

'Aileen.'

'My Lord,' I bow as he gets closer, passing the bridle.

I'm trying to look natural, but I think he notices the sadness in my eyes because he is studying me.

'How old are you?'

I raise my face. 'Eighteen, my Lord.'

'Do you miss your family?'

Sometimes, yeah. I simply nod.

'If you are homesick while I'm away, ask my bastard the permission to visit them for a couple of days.'

I smile. Take this, Alfie! Not only he has been nice, but he even called his son _a bastard._ 'Thank you, my Lord. You are kind to me.'

He doesn't answer back, so I just watch him disappear on the horse, on the narrow bridge that crosses the river in the mist. I can't help but watch the coat of arms, moved by the wind, red like a flame. I can't believe I'm stuck in such a place. But at least my parents won't have to worry about food so much.

A hand slips on my hip. I shiver, turning around on the spot.

The bastard.

For all the gods, already?

'My Lord,' I spit out, stepping back.

He is dressed in black as usual, well shaven, his chest full of pride.

'I told you,' he smiles, raising his elbow to offer me his arm. 'I told you he wouldn't have always been here to protect you.'

I reluctantly grab his arm, walking next to him.

'I don't need protection, my Lord,' I hiss, 'I can look after myself.'

'Can you?' he's holding back a laugh. 'You know why I'm so curious about you?'

'No, and I don't really care,' he stares at me with his icy eyes, 'my Lord,' I add.

'It's because,' he continues, ignoring my reply, 'you think you are so clever, don't you? And you think you can be as funny and spontaneous as you fancy. You are not scared, even when you should. But you seem to forget your place too often.'

'I'm well aware of my place,' I roll my eyes, forcing myself to add another ' _my Lord.'_

'Are you?' he corners me to the stalls, with a quick movement that causes one of the horses to neigh. 'Then why do you have this attitude? Talking with sarcasm, not showing respect, running around like a child…?'

'And why do you always have to annoy people?'

'You see?' he gets me to step back until I hit the wall with my back, 'That's exactly what I meant. You can't stay in your place and you always forget who you are talking to.' He traces my profile with a finger, as I look away in disgust. 'Who are you talking to, Aileen?'

He gets even closer: this guy has no idea of the importance of personal space. 'With Roose Bolton's…' I bite my tongue, trying not to say the other word, 'son.'

'And what am I ruling over, now?'

I raise my eyes, not worrying about all the hate he can perceive in them. 'The Dreadfort.'

'And where do _you_ work, Aileen?' his fingers rest on my chin, forcing me to look at him.

'The Dreadfort.'

'So _who_ do I rule over, little one?'

I breathe out loud in anger, annoyed, wishing I could just slap his arrogant face.

'Answer, Aileen.'

I still can't. All I want to say is that I'm here to serve the Boltons, not a Snow, and I'm afraid that if I open my lips it's gonna come out.

'We could be friends,' he smiles, a fake smile, 'and your life here could be much easier. But you are just too proud, aren't you?' He strokes my cheek. 'Why is that? You are just a servant, little one, or do you think you are a princess?'

 _Half,_ I think. We have the same amount of royal blood, bloody bastard.

'No, my Lord.'

'Then, answer: who-do I-rule-over?' his blue eyes don't allow me to look away, so at least I don't have to focus on his strong hand on my hip and his fingers on my chin.

I just stare back.

He shakes his head. 'No improvements here, mmh? Things are gonna change,' he promises, forcing me to look at him as I try and turn my head on the side. 'Also, Helàna is getting older, don't you think she needs some rest?' he gets even closer, his lips just an inch away from mine. 'From now on, she will only be in charge of some housework, and you will look after my needs as you were doing with my father,' he presses his body against mine, 'or _more,_ if you don't learn some manners, do you understand?' I look away, as I feel his manhood pressing against my gown, just below my hips. Out, I wanna get out of here! 'Things I would certainly _not_ ask or do to Helàna, do you understand?' he repeats softly but firmly, leaning on my ear.

'Unfortunately I understand,' I spit out in despise, stepping away from him, 'Now I beg your pardon, but I feel the urge to throw up,' putting back a lock of hair behind my ear, 'my Lord.'

Good afternoon, people of Westeros!

Thanks for the support you are showing me (I'll get Alfie to cook something nice for all of you), thank you Aleesha for your review (and good luck with college), to Hcguntert, ADanceWithRebekah, Righ-brainer, IndigoChild624 and jcvampirebat for starting to follow my crazy fiction, and to the mysterious guest who suggested that I should write a duel scene between Aileen and Ramsay. You know, this sounds like a really good idea and I am thinking to add such a scene later on in the story ^^

I hope you liked this last chapter. Impressions? Advice?

See you soon, and behave! Because Ramsay is now in charge!

xxx

Sunshine Hamilton


	6. Two conditions

Days are getting colder, here at the Dreadford: in the very early morning, dew looks white and it's like if the grass were made of ice; the river itself, pale and depressing, seems to be covered in frost, even if I know that it's just because of this weird mist. Yeah, I guess the Dreadford is not the best place to be, but at least it's quiet. On the other side of the bridge, trees are still and clouds take ages before changing shape.

'It's so quiet,' I whisper to Alfie, 'It doesn't even look like there's a war out there.'

'I know. And we don't even know exactly what's going on.'

'I don't know _anything_ that's going on out there.'

'What side would you be on, though? The Starks?'

'Sure. Just because I don't want to see them dead.'

He smiles, looking away. 'After all, you are still the half princess of the North.'

'Why did they even call me like that? Ned Stark was a lord… I was barely a half lady.'

'Yes, but if you had married a prince you would have been a half princess.'

'Bullshit.'

Alfie shrugs his broad shoulder. 'You are right. You are _barely_ half a lady, especially with that elegant talking.'

'I know, right?' punching him on the right hip.

A beautiful blonde girl walks past us. Now I remember her: it's the one Alfie has a crush on. Oh, I found him staring at her so many times!

'Hi,' she smiles at him, before disappearing from the courtyard.

My eyes are wide shut. 'You guys finally talk?!' I burst out, excited, waiting for a high five.

'Shhhhhh! Don't make it a big deal.'

'But it is! Look, you are blushing!'

'I'm not blushing,' he hisses, pushing me away.

'I think you could cook tonight's dinner just pressing it on your cheeks.'

'Very funny.'

'Oh, by the way: what will we have for dinner?'

'No idea… the bastard is so fussy.'

'Yeah I kinda figured that out by myself.'

'Because you are so clever.'

'I am.'

It feels like Roose has been away for ages. I still remember what he told me before setting off: he said I should go and visit my family, if I get the bastard's permission.

The truth is, I still haven't asked. How could I? He'd never agree.

And yet I have been thinking about it for a week: I really want to see my family now. All I hear from the outside world is war, war and war. I don't know if it's just peasants making things bigger than they are, but still, I don't want to run the risk of never seeing my family again. I have to ask him. I will.

I look down, holding the tray with his meal, watching my steps on the big staircase that leads to his room.

I'm gonna ask him now, after I've served him dinner. He will be in a good mood with food.

Deep breath.

I somehow manage to balance the massive tray on one arm for a couple of seconds, and knock on the door.

'Yes?'

'Dinner, my lord.'

'Come in.'

He is sitting by the mirror, reading what looks like a very long letter –probably from his father- but he looks at me as soon as I walk in, his blue eyes glowing by the light of the candle.

'Where shall I put it, my lord?' somehow managing to not throw up on this roast chicken as I repeat _my lord._

'Here it's fine,' he smiles, shoving off the letter.

I slowly place the dish in front of him, and then walk back. I'd usually reach for the door as soon as I can, but this time I just stand there, looking at the roundly-shaped point of my poor shoes.

I can feel his eyes on me.

'You can go, Aileen,' he mutters. 'Unless you wish to keep me company of course,' he adds, in a teasing tone.

'Can I just ask you something very quickly?' I timidly begin. 'My lord.' I almost forgot.

'I'm listening,' he leans towards me on the chair.

'Lord Bolton suggested that I go home and see my family for a couple of days, if that's fine with you.'

He shrugs his shoulder. 'And why would I be fine with that?'

'You wouldn't even notice. Helàna will look after you as she used to do before I came here.'

'Aileen,' he sighs, standing up and walking towards me. 'There's a bloody war out there,' he explains, calmly. 'Do you think I _care_ about you missing your parents like a kid?'

'I don't need you to _care_ , you could just-'

'Enough of this,' he shuts me up, walking back to his chair and focussing on the letter. 'You can go.'

I bit my lip to prevent myself from spitting out what I think of him. Fucking mean bastard! Argh, if I could just punch him in the face and break that horrible sadistic smile.

'Actually…' he begins, as I clutch the doorknob. 'I might think about it. I have two conditions though.'

'I'm listening,' I automatically repeat what he had said to me.

'I'll let you go and see your family, if-'

'If?'

'Don't interrupt me. If, first, you kiss me-'

I breathe out in a nervous laugh, rolling my eyes.

'And second,' he goes on, 'if you manage to beat me in a sword fight.'

Ok, now I'm actually listening.

Hello everyone!  
Apologies for disappearing but I've been really busy with uni and work.

Thanks for following the story and a massive THANK YOU to all the readers who left a review… you motivate me to continue the story!

What do you think will happen? Will Aileen accept Ramsay's conditions?


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